House
by LobsterLobster
Summary: Tag to Sanctuary, The morning after Thanksgiving, the two (somewhat hungover) Witnesses wake to find a sinister and sickeningly familiar force infiltrating Abbie's house. They must escape, but at what cost? Team Ichabbie vs scary monsters!
1. Chapter 1

House

Chapter 1

Summary: After the whole haunted house incident, Abbie's nerves are a bit on edge, and who can blame her? Now it's the morning after Jenny's (surprisingly successful) Thanksgiving celebration, but is something sinister going on?

A/N: So far, I think everyone (myself included) has been assuming that Abbie lives in an apartment. I think maybe she rents a house. It's rather small and out of the way, but warm and comfortable, and it's hers. It had been a hard decision to leave it behind to go join the FBI. A small part of her had always thought one day she might have a family to share it with.

Anyway, on to the story!

….

Abbie blinked and rubbed her eyes. Some sound had woken her, but now it was gone. She stretched her legs out and lay still, listening to see if it came again, whatever it was.

It was the day after Thanksgiving and, judging by light filtering its way around the edges of the curtain, probably midmorning.

"Ohh…" she sighed, rubbing her temples. She'd finally gotten Crane to come with her back to her little house at the end of a sleepy lane about twenty minutes or so from the precinct, where Jenny was just setting the places for her impromptu turkey dinner.

He'd managed to have a good time, despite himself, insisting that everyone drink more rum, coming up with more and more elaborate toasts, until he finally passed out on the couch. Abbie had carefully draped a blanket over him after Captain Irving had left and Jenny had gone off to bed. He'd looked up at her blearily and mumbled, "Ab…you're good friend…"

She heard an eerie, soft creaking sound and shivered. It was probably the tree branches outside brushing against the window.

'I'd better go check on Crane…' she thought. Abbie knew from experience that it was always tough to get bad news about your family, especially if it was only an incomplete story and there was no way to know just how bad it might really be.

She put on some socks and shuffled out of her room. He was probably still asleep. She would make some coffee, her go-to cure for hangovers. Or, really, anything.

There was a yellow post-it on Jenny's door. It read, "Gone to Starbucks, back later –J" That was considerate. She usually just came and went as she wished and Abbie frequently had no idea where she was.

Abbie walked into the living room. Yep, Crane was sound asleep on the couch, head resting on a bent arm, the blanket pulled tight around him.

Stepping into the kitchen, she saw that the clock on the coffee maker read 5:01. The oven clock said 5:05. Funny, she thought she'd reset all the clocks after the power outage a few days ago. She started the coffee maker and went back into her room, picking up her phone from the night stand to check the time.

5:04 PM

"What?" Abbie said aloud, confused, "There's no way I slept that long."

There it was again, that scraping, creaking sound of branches tapping and scraping across her bedroom window. Abbie froze, eyes wide. There _was_ no tree by that window!

She forced herself to take a deep breath. There was no need to overreact to every creepy noise she heard. So, she had a little more rum than she remembered and slept in? That doesn't mean anything is wrong.

She resolutely reached out and whipped the curtain away from the window next to her bed and peered out.

Nothing out of the ordinary. The sun was starting to go down and a thick fog had settled over the neighborhood, which was not unusual this time of year. Her house was backed up to a small tributary that spread out and ran into the bay, so she always got the weather coming in off the water.

She leaned closer, nose touching the cool glass, and peered more closely. She could just make out the solitary lamp post at the edge of the yard. It looked like a thick vine had grown up around the post. Had that been there before?

Suddenly she glimpsed a shadowy figure, moving slowly, disjointedly, but she blinked and it was gone, the yard empty but for the shifting fog. Abbie jerked back from the window, eyes wide. An icy jolt of fear shot through her.

"Crane!" she called in an almost-yell. There was no need to panic just yet, her mind rationalized, it might just be a neighborhood kid out there running around, but if she'd learned anything these past few weeks it was to trust her instincts. She had a very bad feeling about this.

She all but ran back into the living room.

"_Crane_!" He didn't move, still asleep.

"Wake up!" Abbie shook his shoulder, "You need to wake up now! Something is wrong!"

Ichabod slowly opened his eyes, struggling to focus on his surroundings. She yanked the blanket off him, letting it fall to the floor. Well, this was certainly not how she'd intended to wake him; with a gentle "Good morning, sleepyhead!" and a hot mug of coffee, some aspirin for his hangover, maybe brush his hair out of his face as she said it, no maybe not that last bit, but all those thoughts were forgotten now.

Ichabod groaned at the rude awakening. Cold without his blanket, he had no choice but to sit up, swinging his stiff legs over the side of the couch. He looked up into Abbie's concerned face.

"Crane, something is going on here! I heard something outside my window," she said, her rushing words betraying her disquiet, "When you took the axe to that tree monster, back at your buddy Lachlan's house, are you _absolutely_ sure that you killed it?"

He was now awake, focused entirely on his partner. He stood, looking her intently in the eye, saying, "I assure you, I lodged the axe deep in its head. The demon fell down and moved no more," he recounted, saying with conviction, "I killed it."

"Yes, but how do you know it was completely dead?" Abbie countered, "You cut off the horseman's head and that only pissed him off more! What if -"

Ichabod put his hands on her shoulders, cutting her off, "Lieutenant…" his expression softened, "Abbie, we defeated Moloch's threat, it's over."

She shook her head but he continued, "Please calm down, it's only a nightmare. I have them too. It will pass."

The last thing she needed to think about right now was Crane tossing in his sleep, tormented by images of his broken family, snatched away without warning by dark forces.

"No!" Abbie said forcefully, though a little more evenly than before, "This is not a nightmare. It's not even night! It's five pm. And there is something strange moving outside!"

"What do you mean?" Ichabod asked in confusion, letting his arms fall to his sides.

"I thought it was morning, but we've practically slept the whole day," Abbie explained.

Ichabod sank back onto the couch, thinking. "I feel like I just lay down to sleep…though my memory is rather hazy, no doubt a result of my favorite drink…" he trailed off.

Abbie inhaled sharply, "Jenny!" Where was her sister?

She pushed open Jenny's bedroom door. The room was empty. So was the bathroom. Abbie opened the door that connected to the garage. Empty as well.

"Yep, she stole my car. Again." At least she'd closed the garage door this time.

Ichabod sat hunched over with his head in his hands.

"Are you okay?" Abbie asked.

"I'm afraid I am a bit worse for the wear, Lieutenant," he said, pushing his hands through his loose hair, absently wondering if Abbie might have an extra piece of string for him to tie it back with. He still didn't quite grasp what was going on and all of Abbie's running around and slamming doors wasn't doing his pounding head any favors.

Ichabod took a long slow breath in an attempt to rally himself to the task at hand and stood up. The electric lights were particularly bright and glaring today.

"Jenny's not here."

"Yes, I gathered that. Thank you," Ichabod said more testily that he'd meant to, but Abbie didn't take offense. She was looking around, taking stock of the situation, as it were.

'Jenny's probably fine. Just keep your cool, girl,' Abbie told herself internally, 'First things first, take care of Crane. Then we'll look and see what's outside.'

"Come here," she grabbed Ichabod's arm and lead him into the bathroom.

"Here, swallow these," she handed him a couple aspirins and a little paper cup of water. "It's a painkiller."

He did as he was told.

"Just sit down for a bit. You should start to feel better soon."

Ichabod sat on the toilet seat and let his eyes close out the glaring lights. Just for a few minutes, while he gathered his strength. Abbie leaned against the sink. She still seemed agitated, which worried Ichabod, but calm enough for the moment.

Besides, he had definitely killed the tree-branch demon. Hadn't he? It was completely dead, as Abbie would say. Right?

...

To be continued!


	2. Chapter 2

House

Chapter 2

Summary: There is definitely something sinister going on and Abbie and Ichabod appear to be trapped inside Abbie's house!

A/N: If you find the Lilo and Stitch reference (which is actually the entire reason I started this story), I will mail you a cookie. Enjoy!

….

Ichabod Crane reached out his arm and pulled aside the curtain covering the wide bay window in the living room. The two Witnesses stood side by side, peering out into the gathering gloom.

"Turn off the lights so we can see better," Ichabod said in a not-quite whisper.

Abbie flipped the switch. Now that the lights weren't glaring off the glass it was a little easier to see outside, but there wasn't a whole lot to see. Heavy fog shifted and coiled about the house, obscuring the lines between the driveway, the yard, the forest on the other side of the lane.

Ichabod shuffled his feet and leaned closer to the window, not sure what exactly he was looking for.

"Shhh!" Abbie admonished, "Did you hear that?" she whispered.

They both listened quietly, waiting. There it was, a wet gurgling sound. Abbie spun around to the source of the noise. It was coming from the kitchen.

Abbie let out a laugh, breaking the tense silence, as she realized what the noise was.

"The coffeemaker! I almost forgot," she said and breathed a sigh of relief. She left Ichabod at the window and went over and shut the coffeemaker off, pouring the hot beverage into two mugs. She set hers on the counter to cool.

Handing a grateful Ichabod his coffee, she said, "I'm just going to take a quick look around outside. I thought I saw someone walking around out there."

She grabbed her sneakers from the pile of shoes next to the front door and slipped her feet inside, saying as much to herself as to her companion, "It's probably nothing. Probably just some kids from down the street, taking beers down to the river…"

Ichabod followed her lead, quickly pulling on his boots and old blue jacket. "I shall accompany you, Lieutenant," he said, not wanting to be left behind.

Abbie was wearing loose pajama pants and a sleeveless shirt. He glanced around. Where is her jacket? She's going to be cold.

The doorknob wouldn't turn.

"It's jammed," Abbie said, gripping it with both hands and trying again, frustration growing, "The door won't open!"

"Allow me," Ichabod took a last gulp of coffee and set his mug on a small end table. He stepped around Abbie and tried the doorknob as well, to the same results.

"This is _not_ happening again," Abbie declared, their recent haunted house ordeal too fresh in her mind. At least the electricity was still on.

Ichabod's thoughts were not far off course from the Lieutenant's. Outraged at the prospect of some outside force, demonic or not, trapping him and threatening Lieutenant Mills, he released the doorknob and stood back. Ichabod took a deep breath, clenched his fists, and kicked the door with all his strength, his foot landing squarely above the door jam.

"Whoa!" Abbie exclaimed at her partner's violent outburst.

The door only shuddered and creaked in its frame. Ichabod looked set to try again but Abbie grabbed his arm, "Stop! Crane, that's not going to work!"

"Fine," he shook back the loose hair that had fallen into his face, "We'll try the other exit."

"Alright, back door is this way," Abbie said, taking off down the hallway to the rarely-used back door. It was also jammed shut.

"No need for alarm," Ichabod said, "We will go through the car house."

"Garage," Abbie corrected, following him back through the house and through the door that connected to the garage.

She hit the garage door opener button with decidedly more force than necessary. The door groaned but didn't budge, prompting Abbie to hit the button several more times. The small motor whirred in protest and there was a faint whiff of smoke and the sound of gears crunching together and stopping.

Ichabod awkwardly tried to find a grip on the inside of the garage door, straining to lift it.

"Lieutenant," he called.

Abbie joined him, trying to push the door up.

"Crane, hold on," she said, "on three, okay?"

"Okay."

Abbie counted, "One. Two. Three!"

They strained against the door with all their strength but it wouldn't budge.

"There is something holding the door down, something pressing against it from the other side," Ichabod said in frustration.

As far as Abbie was concerned, this whole situation was getting old fast. She had always hated haunted houses and now being inexplicably trapped in her own house was simply unacceptable. She decided to take a page from Crane's book, squared her shoulders and closed her hands into fists.

"HYAAAA!" Abbie kicked the door. Her martial arts instructor at the Academy would have been proud, but the door only creaked and groaned. If anything it seemed to settle more tightly in its frame. The little bit of daylight leaking around the edges of the door was choked off and they were left in only the dim light of a bare overhead light bulb.

"It is futile, Lieutenant," Ichabod said, giving her a little extra space. He made a mental note not to ever underestimate his partner, despite her petite frame and her pretty smile.

"Let us regroup inside," he said, "There are many ways out of any house."

Abbie followed him back inside, leaving the door to the garage propped open with a cinder block. "Yeah, great, we'll just sneak out the window."

Ichabod stopped short in the middle of the living room, nearly causing Abbie to bump into his back.

"You were saying?" He asked slowly, stepping out of her way, his eyes focused on the bay window.

"_What_," Abbie asked, alarm creeping into her voice, "the hell is _that_?"

Several thick, brown vines crisscrossed the window, thin offshoots branching and spreading out like blood vessels across the glass. It was now very dark outside and the vines blocked out the few fading rays of daylight.

"It appears that somehow," Ichabod said, "that same evil which infected Lachlan's house has found its way here, to your home."

"I'd better call somebody," Abbie said, not taking her eyes off the window, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

"You were right. I thought I'd defeated Moloch's monster, but I was wrong," Ichabod was saying, "but it didn't die, not completely."

"There's no signal!" Abbie was tapping her phone, trying to make a call, "There's no reception."

"We are on our own," Ichabod stated, looking at her, eyes wide.

"Shh…" Abbie whispered, "did you hear that?"

They both held still, looking around, listening carefully. The house seemed to shift and settle in its foundations, the way old houses will, the joints between walls and floors protesting their age, but there was something else too. A muffled, distant scraping crunch.

Abbie abruptly reached out and grabbed ahold of Ichabod's arm, gripping him tightly.

"There's something moving down there," she whispered, turning a frightened gaze towards the only door she had yet to check since waking, "in the basement."

Ichabod didn't say anything about her grip on his arm. If anything, he'd been a second from reaching for her, himself. His head was aching, his heart racing.

A slow, irregular, shuffling sound came from the basement. Footsteps.

Abbie turned the little bar on the doorknob, locking it.

"There's nothing down there, shouldn't be anything down there. No way in or out. It's empty," she said, talking a little too fast, "The basement always floods in the spring so I don't keep anything there. I don't go down there."

They looked at the kitchen window, the bedroom window, they were all the same, dry brown vines crisscrossing the glass, tightening their grip on the house.

Ichabod picked up a kitchen chair and strode to the living room window, which had only become more obscured by vines in the few minutes they hadn't been looking at it. He gripped the seat back and swung the chair dramatically into the window, but it only bounced back ineffectually. He tried again, and again, then one of the chair legs fell off.

'Well, so much for my IKEA furniture…' thought Abbie, as he tossed the broken chair aside.

"Crane! Here, try this," Abbie said, helpfully handing Ichabod her favorite baseball bat.

"Thank you," he said, taking a deep breath and letting Abbie jump out of the way before resuming his valiant attack on the vine-choked window. He slammed the bat into the window again and again, until the glass started to crack and splinter.

Crane was a good fighter, she knew that, but Abbie couldn't help grimacing at the sight of his stance. His grip and swing were all wrong.

'If we get out of this alive,' Abbie promised herself, 'I'm taking him to the batting cages first thing.' Clearly, their Saturday afternoon routine of watching the community baseball games together was not enough.

Ichabod slammed the bat into the window again, handling it rather like a sword, and the center pane shattered. He swung again, but this time a vine wrapped itself around the end of the baseball bat, wresting it from his grip. He tried to pull it free but more vines encircled the bat. Ichabod jumped back before they could grab his arms as well.

"Lieutenant," he started, "Please tell me you have an ax!"

Abbie didn't answer. Her attention was back on the basement door. There was a heavy thump, then another, and another, getting louder with each creak of the stairs, each step of the monster.

"It's coming up the stairs! Crane! Help me with this!" Abbie yelled.

Together they pushed the heavy couch in front of the basement door, just in time. The door shuddered as something heavy hit it from the other side.

Abbie looked around desperately, wishing that she owned more heavy furniture, but she'd purposefully bought only things that were light, easy to put together by herself, easy to move by herself. That heavy, old couch would have to do.

Thin snakelike vines were growing, pushing through the corners and edges of the house, where the floor was joined to the wall, around the edges of doorways.

Abbie and Ichabod shared a look that said, as clearly as if they'd spoken aloud, "We need to get out of here! Think! What can we do?"

The lights flickered ominously but stayed on. The pounding on the basement door continued.

"I'll try the landline," Abbie said, hurrying over to the little-used phone in the kitchen.

"I'll look in here for something that may be of help," Ichabod said, heading back into the garage. Hopefully Abbie had some flashlights or an ax in there.

Abbie picked up the phone and was never so relieved to hear a dial tone. She quickly dialed a familiar number, anxiously waiting while it rang.

"Hello?" Finally, an answer, "Mills, is that you?"

"Captain Irving, demons are attacking my house!"

"What did you just say?" The captain's startled response was drowned out by the sudden high-pitched whine of a motor, coming from the garage.

"Oh good, Crane found the chainsaw!"

The lights flickered again and then went dark. The phone line went dead. Abbie dropped the phone back onto the counter and opened a drawer, feeling around until she found the box of matches. Lighting one, she ran through the dark towards Crane, giving the blocked basement door a wide berth.

…

To be continued!

A/N: This took me a lot longer to write than I thought, but don't worry, I have a lot of ideas about where this story is going! I usually like to write more fluffy stories, but this one became more scary and dramatic. I hope you like it.

Preview: Of course our heroes will escape, but at what cost? How does Captain Irving react to such a crazy phone call? And, most importantly, how exactly did Ichabod learn to use a chainsaw anyway?


	3. Chapter 3

House

Chapter 3

Summary: Will Captain Irving be any help to our favorite Witnesses? Will Ichabod finally reveal how he learned to use a chainsaw? After this whole apocalypse business is over, does he have a promising future as a lumberjack? How will they escape this time, and how exactly is Abbie planning to take the fight to Moloch?

A/N: This is the longest chapter I've written! Also the most dramatic, for sure. I hope you like it!

(Also, thank you very much, my lovely reviewers! Those of you who correctly found the Lilo and Stitch reference last chapter, your complimentary cookies are in the hands of the postal service now so watch your mailboxes!)

…

Captain Frank Irving put his desk phone back in its cradle.

'I knew I should have stayed in bed this morning,' he thought to himself, 'because God forbid I have one day of relative peace and quiet in this town.'

He stood up, snapping his bewildered mind back on track. Mills was in trouble. Of course it had to be the supernatural kind of trouble. He had to do something, but what exactly did she expect him to do with such little information?

He opened the door to his office and spotted Lieutenant Ford, head of the tactical response team, just coming in off his break.

"Ford! Get your team geared up and ready to go!" Irving ordered.

Lieutenant Ford snapped smartly to attention, "Yes sir! What's happening?"

'Oh, just that Mills says demons are attacking her house...no, can't say that!' Irving paused before answering, "I just got a call from Lieutenant Mills. Unknown assailants are converging on her house. We need to move!"

A few minutes later Captain Irving stood in the parking lot as Ford and his men rushed through their final preparations and loaded into their armored truck. He strapped on a tac vest and shouted the address to the driver.

"We have two known friendlies inside, Mills and Crane. No details on the assailants, but this may be related to the power station sabotage a few weeks ago. Keep your eyes open!"

"Yes sir!" Ford acknowledged and jumped into the passenger side.

Captain Irving ran to his own vehicle and sped out of the parking lot right behind the truck. In moments he'd be followed by more police cars, sirens blaring.

He had no idea what he was about to face, but these otherworldly menaces had a way of not being seen unless they wanted to be seen. Maybe a display of force would scare away any demons. Hopefully.

Either way, Mills was one of his own. He would do what he could to help her.

But how in the world did Ichabod Crane, errant Revolutionary War soldier, know how to operate a chainsaw?

….

Ichabod grinned despite the sudden darkness. He hefted the modern machine easily, getting a feel for its weight and balance, carefully keeping the rotating blade angled away from him. The humming power of it was exhilarating. After several false starts, he'd managed to get it running.

Where is Abbie? She's going to be so impressed!

Right on cue, Abbie came running through the doorway but she tripped over something on the top step and fell down the three short steps into the garage, catching herself on her hands and knees. The matchbox went skidding across the cold cement floor, the one lit match blowing out.

"Ow!" she exclaimed.

"Lieutenant! Are you okay?" Ichabod demanded. If he hadn't been holding the chainsaw, he might have been able to catch her. He'd never seen Abbie take a fall before, or really do anything that could be considered clumsy, even in the dark.

"I'm okay," she answered, promptly picking herself up and brushing herself off. That was embarrassing. Her knees stung but she was otherwise unhurt.

"Crane, I dropped the matchbox. Did you see it?" Abbie knelt and waved her hands along the floor, searching for the box.

"I'm afraid I can't see anything," he said, "Be careful," stepping away from where he heard her moving. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally injure Miss Mills with the vibrating chainsaw in his hands.

"We need light," Ichabod said unhelpfully, then added, "I'm going to try and cut a hole in the garage door."

"I can't find it," Abbie gave up and stood, feeling her way to the back of the garage where she had some shelves next to the small workbench. Reaching to the top shelf she fumbled around and found what she wanted, a Coleman lantern. She found the little button on the side and a cool light filled the room, casting jumping shadows about them.

"That's better," she said, looking around.

There was a thick vine running across the top step, curling up around the doorframe she had just come through. No wonder she'd tripped.

The matchbox had slid over into the corner, by the snow shovel. She quickly picked it up and stuck it in her pocket.

"Bring the light over here, please," Ichabod said anxiously.

Abbie held the lantern up beside him.

"Crane, are you sure you know how to use that?" she asked. Her incredulous expression was a far cry from the look of surprise and admiration that he'd been hoping for. She motioned for the chainsaw, "Maybe I should…"

"Lieutenant, do you not recall the day you left me behind to attend a staff meeting, took the keys to the Archives with you-"

"Do we _have_ to bring this up again _now_?" Abbie interrupted, growing impatient. She'd said she was sorry.

"-and I spent a good seven hours watching a program called 'Ax Men' on the History Channel?"

"Whatever, just go for it," there was no arguing with him when he got that haughty determined look in his eyes.

"If I avoid hitting these metal framing bars that go across, I should be able to cut out a section large enough to crawl through," Ichabod explained his plan.

Another series of loud creaking, crunching sounds came from the direction of the house. That basement door wouldn't hold up too much longer.

"Less talking, more escaping, please!" Abbie was keen to put some distance between them and the source of those noises.

Ichabod plunged the buzzing chainsaw into the garage door, hesitantly at first but then with more control as he felt the saw bite into the wood, slicing a vertical gash into the door. He withdrew the saw then started on a horizontal cut, splinters and sawdust falling around his feet.

Abbie watched his progress but kept looking back towards the house, alert for any approaching danger. She glanced back at Ichabod, who was making quick work of the door, and held the light a little higher so he could see better.

Glancing back towards the open door to the house, her eyes stopped on the second shelf at the back of the garage. Her free hand closed tightly on the matchbox in her pocket.

Ichabod didn't see her eyes narrow and her expression harden.

These past few weeks that she'd spent with Crane, fighting evil witches, nightmare monsters, assorted undead horsemen and other menacing creatures, they hadn't really been fighting at all. They'd been running, narrowly escaping utter disaster at every turn. Really, she'd been running from evil for most of her life, ever since that day in the woods that had changed her and Jenny's lives.

She was tired of running, tired of being afraid, tired of mourning her lost friends, of seeing the heartbreak writ plainly across Crane's face every time they learned something new about his lost family.

It was time to fight back.

Abbie placed the lantern on the ground a few feet from where Crane stood and strode towards the back shelf.

"What," Ichabod turned his head to look at her, but kept cutting, "What are you doing?"

"Keep at it, Crane."

"Lieutenant?" he called. He only had to make one more long cut to finish a ragged rectangle.

Vines had grown up, crisscrossing the outside surface of the garage door. Like the vines that had so thoroughly infiltrated his friend Lachlan's mansion, these spewed thick red blood when broken. In the dim light he could see the dark substance dripping down from where the saw had cut the white door, mixing with the sawdust and pooling around his boots. His hands were splattered in blood but he was careful not to lose his grip on the chainsaw.

"Lieutenant! I'm almost through!" he shouted, "Where are you going?"

"I have to do this, Crane! I'll be right there!" she answered from behind him, reaching up to grab the item resting on the wooden shelf.

Her hand wrapped around the handle of the red plastic gasoline container. Good, it was full. She unscrewed the cap and placed the container on the ground at her feet and reached for the second one. Deftly unscrewing the second cap, letting the acrid smell of gasoline fill the small space, Abbie glanced back at Ichabod.

He'd cut the outlines of a decent sized hole into the garage door and now, holding the chainsaw away from his body, kicked at the section he'd cut, trying to dislodge it.

Abbie spotted a small flashlight in the corner of the workbench and grabbed it. She all but ran back into the house, careful to step over the thick vine spreading across the top step.

Using the small light to guide her, Abbie turned first into the kitchen. She hardly recognized the interior of her own house, the place she'd lived for the past five years, now that dark vines were branching across the walls, cutting the corners of doorways, creeping out along the floor.

Holding the flashlight in her mouth for a moment, Abbie quickly turned the dials on the old stove, forcing the gas jets all the way open. She titled the red plastic container and poured gasoline across the floor as she backed out of the kitchen. Hastily, she waved her arm in large arches, splattering gasoline across the living room, over the face of her bookshelf, her bedroom door.

Then she came to the door leading to the basement, with the heavy couch still firmly in front of the door, albeit a few inches further away from the door than where she and Crane had left it. The door was bowed out a bit in the middle and was starting to splinter around the doorknob.

The whole house creaked and groaned. It was the sound of dry wood straining, protesting an unwanted, unnatural strain.

"LIEUTENANT!" Ichabod shouted from the garage.

"Hold on!" Abbie yelled back, emptying the rest of the gasoline all over the basement door and the couch, and then tossed the container aside.

"Lieutenant!" Ichabod yelled again, wishing she would hurry back to him. He hated being separated from her at times like this.

Abbie ran back to the garage, fairly leaping through the doorway so she wouldn't trip again. She landed hard and scrambled over to where she'd left the second red plastic container.

Ichabod had opened a hole in the garage door. Errant vines kept creeping around the edges, trying to close it back up, but he kept them at bay with the whining chainsaw. Blood was now splattered all over him. It was starting to gum up the rotating blade.

"What are you doing?" He'd seen the small picture of a flame on the red plastic containers earlier, when he first found the chainsaw, but couldn't quite connect that to his partner's reckless actions now.

"This is gasoline, highly flammable," Abbie said as she liberally doused the doorway to the house, the back shelves and wooden workbench, and finally the side wall that was shared between the garage and the house, for good measure.

"Please hurry!" Ichabod implored, looking at her desperately.

"I'm coming!" Abbie dumped the last bit of gasoline out onto the floor and tossed the container aside.

The fumes stung her throat, her eyes.

"Lieutenant!" Ichabod yelled for what felt like the hundredth time that night, "We must move! _Now_!"

Finally, Abbie was at his side again.

"Go!" he urged, "I'm right behind you."

Abbie focused on the ragged opening cut into the garage door. All that work, and he couldn't have made it any lower?

She dove through the opening and tumbled quite ungracefully onto the driveway. She staggered out of the way, filling her lungs with the cool night air.

"Crane, come on!"

"Stand back!"

She obeyed, just in time. Ichabod tossed the chainsaw out through the opening. It sailed through the air and crashed along the pavement with an awful mechanical shriek.

Suddenly they heard a loud, sharp crack and a horrible crash. That was it. The basement door had given way and the evil tree monster was free.

"_Crane_!" Abbie yelled his name, but he was already moving.

Ichabod copied Abbie and dove head first through the opening, intending slow his motion with a nice forward roll, but his pant leg got caught on a broken vine and he crashed onto the ground in a confusion of limbs, barely managing to scrape his legs free before more vines could close around his boots.

If she hadn't been just about scared out of her mind she probably would have laughed out loud at Crane's comically bungled egress. Instead she winced, that had to hurt, and grabbed his arms and helped him regain his feet. Together they staggered a few steps back from the garage, finally breathing fresh air again.

Abbie looked up. The entire surface of the garage, no the whole house, was overgrown with dry, twisted branches, slowly shifting in the darkness.

Ichabod took another step backwards.

Abbie pulled the matchbox out of her pocket, flipped it open, withdrew a single match. The cold, misty air made her shiver. Her heart was pounding too loud in her ears.

Something blocked out the light from the camp lantern, still sitting on the ground on the other side of the door. For just a second there was a shadow, the silhouette of a roughly man-shaped form.

Abbie struck the match.

Soundlessly, two tree branch arms extended from the cut opening in the door, grasping empty air, followed by a misshapen head, half cracked open like an egg that's just been struck against the edge of a frying pan.

The match spun through the air, closing the few inches between Abbie's outstretched hand and the monster's would-be face.

Ichabod's arms clamped around her middle and she was yanked back hard and spun around. They fell to the ground, Ichabod using his body to shield her as best he could.

With a roaring WHOOOSH, the monster was engulfed in bright flames. It recoiled, falling back inside the garage.

Abbie pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. She grabbed Crane's collar, trying to pull him up.

"Run," she gasped, then finding her voice, commanded, "RUN!"

They ran down the driveway and into the street. Ichabod faltered, stunned at the sight of flames swallowing up the vine-covered garage, spreading quickly across the whole front of the house.

"What is," he tried to ask, but was cut off.

"Don't look back!" Abbie fumbled for his hand and kept running.

Together they sprinted across the street, across the vacant lot on the other side, stumbling over rocks and loose clumps of dirt in the foggy night. They came to a small creek at the edge of the woods.

"Here! Get down!"

Abbie jumped down the bank and fell into the creek, gasping as she hit the bitterly cold water. Ichabod followed suit.

Just then a massive BOOM shattered the night and a brief wave of heat rolled over the two huddled Witnesses.

For a second Ichabod was back on the battlefield, surrounded by cannon blasts, panicking horses, barked orders, and musket fire. He blinked and the flashback was gone. He was kneeling in a cold creekbed in the future Sleepy Hollow, fairly soaked and muddy, looking at the young Lieutenant Abigail Mills to see if she was alright, not his brothers in arms from his time in the Continental Army.

He stood slowly beside her, asking, "Are you hurt?"

When she didn't answer, he turned to follow her gaze.

The cozy house at the end of the lane, the place that Abbie had made her home, was gutted, roaring flames leaping high into the sky, so bright now that he could hardly look at it.

His voice held a tinge of awe, "My God…Lieutenant, what have you done?" He gazed in horror at the utter destruction before them. He'd never seen anything like it.

Abbie wiped the splattered mud from her eyes.

"Alright! That's it! Right there!" She turned her face to look up at him, her soft features lit in the fiery glow.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him. Surely now was not the appropriate time for a fist-bump. No, looking closer, her expression was not one of elation; rather her smile was fiercely triumphant, albeit bittersweet.

Abbie took a few steps closer towards her burning house and raised her fist.

"This is it, Moloch! Do you hear me now? I'm not afraid anymore!" she shouted, gesturing wildly, voice hoarse, but she couldn't stop, "How do you like it now, Moloch?! Damn you! _Damn you straight to Hell_!"

…..

To be Continued…

A/N: Please let me know what you think! I had fun writing this.

Preview: Will Captain Irving and his boys ever get there? How is Jenny going to react to this latest development in her living situation? How is Abbie going to cope with the aftermath of her decision to strike a blow at Moloch by burning down (and blowing up) her own house? Will Ichabod be there to patch up her hurt? (Yes, of course he will!) Also, I'm pretty sure arson is a felony, however well-intentioned.


	4. Chapter 4

House

Chapter 4

Summary: Why is it that emergency services always seem to arrive only just after our heroes have already saved the day? What has Jenny been doing all day? Also, there is a special appearance by a certain Detective Morales and, of course, Ichabod finally gets a chance to show what a good friend he is to Abbie, and reveals an interesting detail from his past.

A/N: This chapter is kinda like the immediate aftermath of the action-adventure scenes, the parts that are usually skipped over on the show because there's so much happening, and really why fanfiction was invented, right? Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

…..

The tires screeched as the armored Police van turned the corner onto Mills' street.

Lieutenant Ford had been here just once before, several years ago, when Mills had thrown a house-warming party and invited pretty much everyone from the Sherriff's Department. He didn't get to work with Mills very often, but she had a good reputation. She was solid, dependable, and she had a good attitude. He suspected that more than a few of his men harbored secret crushes on the pretty Lieutenant, but not Ford. He had his beloved Sandra to come home to every night.

It was because of Sandra that he'd left the Army. He'd made the Army his home, it was where he belonged, always on the move, always ready for the next deployment, but there'd come a point where he realized that, if he re-enlisted one more time, Sandra wouldn't wait for him any longer. She wanted a family, one where he was home every night to share it, and he knew he'd never love someone like he loved Sandra.

So he'd settled in to life in Sleepy Hollow and quickly taken leadership of the Tactical Response Team, whipping the men into shape, refining their emergency procedures, drilling the team for every contingency he could imagine.

Most people said he was too paranoid, too gung-ho, that nothing calamitous ever happened in Sleepy Hollow, but a couple months ago all that had begun to change. Ford was sure that Captain Irving knew more about what was going on than he let on, but he trusted the Captain to fill him in when it was time. After all, his team had done him proud on the night of the power plant sabotage.

Ford allowed a small, appropriately grim, smile to settle across his features as the van sped down the residential street. Finally, this was it; this was where he belonged, on the front lines fighting the forces of evil that would threaten his precious home.

"Is that her house, sir?" asked Billy, the driver, pointing ahead, "At the end of the lane?"

They were still a few blocks away but they could see a red glow, growing bigger and brighter, where Mills' house was supposed to be.

"Yeah, that's it. Better call it in," Ford said, reaching for the radio to alert the fire department.

Billy pulled to a stop a safe distance from the burning house.

Ford raised his voice to give the men in the back of the van their orders, "Listen up! Secure the perimeter and locate Mills and Crane, then spread out and search for hostiles!"

There was a chorus of "Yes sir!" from his team before they unloaded from the van.

It was time to get to work.

….

Jenny Mills sipped her now lukewarm coffee and flipped the page of her book.

Well, the book wasn't really hers, it technically still belonged to Barnes and Noble, but it was free to sit in the café in the back of the bookstore and read whatever she wanted. She'd been there all day. It was a nice atmosphere. She liked the quiet bustle of people coming and going, ordering coffees, studying for exams, meeting up with friends. Sometimes it was the casual, every-day places like this that she missed the most when she was locked up.

Her phone buzzed on the table. Was Abbie finally calling her back? She tapped the screen to see who it was.

Frank Irving.

Her eyes lit up for just a second then she thought, 'No, he wouldn't call just to talk to me, there's probably something gone wrong. I'm probably in trouble, just my luck. Well, you don't know that yet. Play it cool.'

She tapped the green phone icon, accepting the call, and brought it to her ear.

"Hey, what's up?" she asked, a little too nonchalantly.

"Where are you?" he interrogated, no pleasantries, that wasn't his style.

"Bookstore," she replied, then added, "I'm locked out. My idiot sister gave me the wrong house key. She won't answer the door, won't answer the phone."

Everything had seemed fine when she'd left that morning, Abbie still asleep in her room and Crane passed out on the couch. She'd even been considerate enough to leave a note. Abbie didn't have to take her in, but she had, even after everything they'd been through.

Then that afternoon she'd returned to find herself locked out, ignored, given the silent treatment. It stung. She'd considered breaking a window but had decided it wasn't worth the fight that would surely ensue. Better to let Abbie take all the blame for this one. She'd go chill at the bookstore, enjoy some free wifi, and come back home when she was good and ready.

If Abbie wanted to spend some alone time with Captain America, she could have just said so, what did Jenny care? But no, not even a text. Especially after insisting that they were just friends and Crane still considered himself quite married, albeit to an undead witch trapped in Purgatory, her sister's behavior was inconsiderate and irritating.

'That's her problem,' Jenny had found herself thinking off and on throughout the years, 'Abbie's never known what she wants. She always wants to have things both ways. Like when she wanted me to trust her and do what she says, but didn't want to admit aloud what we both saw in the woods that day.'

Frank's voice interrupted her musings, "So you haven't spoken to Mills at all?"

"I just said she isn't answering her phone. So, no, I haven't spoken to her," Jenny replied tartly. Was that sirens in the background? What was going on?

"Where are you? What's this about?" she asked, becoming concerned.

"You'd better come home," he said, "Now."

There was a small click as the call disconnected. Jenny looked at her phone in alarm.

Well, that was less than informative. What did he mean by that? Did that mean he's at her house now? Is Abbie in some kind of trouble?

Jenny felt a cold stab of pain in her gut. Has the Headless Horseman returned and here she was, sitting in the cozy bookstore, thinking resentful thoughts about her sister?

She stood and ran out of the store, leaving her forgotten coffee cup and half-finished book sitting on the café table.

….

Abbie clenched the itchy emergency blanket tighter around her shoulders and clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. Her thin pajama pants clung to her legs, icy water dripping into her soggy, muddy sneakers.

The worst of the flames were dying down, faltering under the fire hoses' onslaught.

Captain Irving stood nearby, speaking into his radio. She'd already given him a bare-bones breakdown of what had happened. No, there hadn't been any Hessians involved. Yes, she was definitely sure the threat was eliminated. She'd left him free to make up whatever version of events he felt was most appropriate for the official record. If he asked, she'd explain what really happened later, in private, but she didn't think he would ask.

Lieutenant Ford and a few of his men were still loitering around. Ford nodded to her and then went back to his conversation.

Earlier, after they'd made sure no bad guys were lurking around the neighborhood, Food had come over to Abbie to express his condolences.

"I'm real sorry about your house, Mills," the burly ex-soldier had said, placing a hand on her shoulder somewhat awkwardly, "If you need anything, you only have to call, okay? You have a lot of friends in this town, after all."

She appreciated the sentiment, but she felt Ford would never believe what was really going on in Sleepy Hollow. He was the classic, by the book, only trust what I see with my own eyes, type of man, even more so than Captain Irving.

Abbie sighed. She was so tired. Even Luke had shown up, just at the height of the chaos, and tried to talk to her. That was really just the icing on the cake, she thought bitterly.

"Abbie, Abbie!" Luke called, breathlessly.

She turned towards the sudden warm hand gripping her arm to see Luke, the last person she expected, or wanted for that matter, to see that night.

"Abs, I have to-" he started, his eyes uncharacteristically wide, even panicked.

"What the hell, Luke?" Abbie rebuffed him, determined not to care why he looked so anxious, "I don't have time for this!"

"Listen to me, Abs, this is important," Luke went on undeterred, almost desperately, "There's something I should have told you, just give me five min-"

"No, Luke," she wrested her arm out of his grip, stepping closer to Crane who was talking to an EMT, "Please stop it."

She was trying to keep some semblance of cool but she really couldn't deal with her ex and his endless demands.

"Abs, I know you're mad and I'm sorry. Just this once, please," Luke said, then hesitated, startled by Crane's looming glare.

"Whatever, Luke. I'll call you later, okay?" Abbie said dismissively, turning away from him.

Crane, bless him, put his arm around her shoulder and guided her over to the back of an ambulance, not once sparing a glance back at Luke.

"Oh honey, you must be near hypothermic, come here," said the EMT, unfolding a large emergency blanket.

"I, ah, tripped in the stream back there," Abbie explained, some part of her mind worrying that someone was going to ask why, exactly did they run and hide so far away from the fire, had she been _expecting_ a large explosion?

"I'm okay, really, just a bit cold," she said, but was mostly ignored.

Abbie gratefully let the EMT fuss over her and Crane, pushing any thoughts of Luke to the back of her mind.

But when the chaos had died down some and she found herself standing alone, staring aimlessly at the ruins of her home, her thoughts drifted back to Luke.

She recalled the day that she, Crane, and Captain Irving had laid their trap and captured the Headless Horseman and in the middle of it all she'd left Luke a voicemail cancelling their lunch plans. He'd never called her back. At first she hadn't noticed, she'd been so busy dealing with the undead Andy Brooks turned necromancer, Crane interrogating the headless agent of the apocalypse and the whole can of worms that had opened, and getting Jenny moved in.

In the days that followed she didn't see Luke when she stopped in the office, he was always out when she was there, so she'd left him one, then two more voicemails. No answers, not even a text. She stopped just short of leaving a post-it on his desk. Why did she care so much? He was the one who had wanted to talk, after all.

Then the other day, during a quiet moment in the Archives, Crane had caught her staring forlornly at her phone, flipping it around in her hand.

"What's on your mind, Lieutenant?"

"Nothing, Crane," she said, less convincingly that she intended, slipping the phone back into her pocket, "It's nothing. What are you reading now?"

"Are you perhaps waiting for a call?" he asked knowingly, how did he always know?

Abbie sighed. She knew by now that he wouldn't be satisfied until she answered him honestly. He had a way of knowing immediately when she was the least bit distracted or upset, when she tried to deflect attention, to hold her thoughts inside where they belonged and he knew just what to say to get her to spill the beans. Nobody else did that, nobody else would even bother.

"Luke never called me back," Abbie found herself confiding, "after I cancelled our lunch plans, before. I left a voicemail and it's not like I had a choice. Even if he's mad, he could have at least called."

She wasn't going to tell Crane, with his intense gaze, just how many voicemails she'd left. "I think now he's avoiding me, which is totally middle school."

Crane looked thoughtful, "Why would he avoid you? It's clear the man has not relinquished his attachment for you."

"Huh," Abbie rested her chin on her hand, absently rustling some of the papers on the desk.

"I don't know," she said, "I kinda deserve it. I essentially did the same thing to him after we broke up, so I guess it's only fair."

She trailed off, wanting to stop this conversation before Crane started asking about the break up.

"Miss Mills, that is nonsense," Ichabod said decisively.

"Oh?"

"A lady should always be treated with kindness and grace. If Detective Morales is unable to hold on to your friendship, then the fault and the loss is his alone."

Abbie wasn't sure what to say to that.

Ichabod continued, with a small smile, "After all, if you have found it in your heart to befriend someone so unlikely as myself, then surely you are gifted with superior quality of character."

"Oh, Crane," Abbie finally cracked a smile, "you're a good friend too. And thanks."

His task of cheering her up, if only for a moment, completed, Ichabod handed her an old book, saying, "If you would, take a look in here and see if the author makes any mention of my Mason brothers."

"Mills. Lieutenant Mills?" Captain Irving's voice broke in to Abbie's thoughts, bringing her back to the present.

"Yes?" she tore her eyes away from the dying fire. The Captain's usually strict face looked worn and concerned.

"We're going to need your official statement regarding tonight's events, and Crane's too, but that can wait for now. Don't worry about it tonight."

Abbie just nodded wearily, not trusting her voice. The smell of smoke was so strong. The image of flames steadily devouring her house, the home she'd made for herself, the only place she'd finally felt safe after so many years of uncertainty, was too bright in her eyes.

"Mills, are you sure you're okay?" Irving asked in a softer tone.

She tried to say yes, or at least nod, but couldn't. She felt her face scrunch up as she tried, and failed, to keep the tears from spilling over.

"Where's Crane?" she managed, barely audible.

"Hold on," Irving said, putting a hesitant hand on her shoulder, looking up to spot Ichabod sitting on the bumper of an ambulance, bundled in his own emergency blanket.

"CRANE?!" he yelled at the top of his voice, causing Abbie to flinch at the loud noise next to her ear. Was that really necessary?

Irving knew his voice was probably too loud, but it did the job. In seconds Ichabod was by Abbie's side.

Ichabod took one look at his partner, her shoulders were shaking, one hand half covering her face, and promptly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close in a tight embrace.

Abbie choked back a sob and leaned her forehead against his chest, her body tense.

"I'm here," Ichabod said softly, bending his head closer so she could hear, "We're safe now. You're safe. I have you."

Ichabod felt her relax some of the tension in her body, letting her fists unclench.

"I don't…I don't have a home…" Abbie cried, then pushed her hand over her eyes, saying in a ragged voice, "I'm so sorry…to you…you're the last person I should complain to…"

"Oh Abbie," he said her name tenderly, "you have every right to be sad at a time like this."

He gently stroked her hair and held her close as she cried. They stood like this for a long time, one Witness releasing her sorrows while the other laid aside his own sorrows in favor of guarding his friend's heart.

Eventually the worst of her tears gave way to sniffles as Abbie kept her face buried in Ichabod's chest, not yet willing to face the outside world again. She wanted to unbend her arms and hug him back, more comfortably, but she was too tired and cold to move, and his hold was too secure.

"Now Lieutenant, I do not believe I have shared this part of my past with you," Ichabod began in his soothing, story-telling voice, not at all sure if Abbie was even listening, "but, as it happens, I am in fact an adept carpenter. I give you my word that, as peace allows, I will strive to rebuild your house, although this time perhaps we will forgo the basement."

He rambled on about how he'd spent his summers as a youth apprenticed to a local carpenter, which at the time he had detested, but his father had insisted that he experience more of life beyond his scholastic endeavors, more specifically manual labor, which is of course necessary for young men to build character, discipline, and respect.

"Wait a minute," Abbie interrupted his monologue, right when he was getting to the part about being force to fell no less than one hundred young trees at the age of fourteen.

She wiped her face and cleared her throat, pushing away a little bit to look up at him curiously, and said hesitantly, "Crane?"

"Yes?"

"Did you just say that you're going to build me a new house?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes," he replied.

"Seriously?"

"I assure you, Abbie, I am most sincere," he said, relaxing his hold on her just a little. He was still worried at her shivering.

"Okay," Abbie said, too exhausted and bewildered to question him further. She rested her cheek against his chest, head turned away from the smoldering lot where her house used to be.

"Thank you, Ichabod. For everything," she said softly, before falling quiet again.

…..

To Be Continued…

A/N: There is still a lot more to this story, but as this chapter was getting a bit long I decided to stop it here.

Preview: Join us next time for, what else, even more Ichabbie friendship and hurt/comfort adorableness AKA Ichabod vs. the 21st Century First Aid Kit!

And also (this might be the chapter after next) more Irving/Jenny interaction because, never mind finding a new home, where are the Mills sisters going to sleep that night? More hints, and more special appearances (not Luke), to come soon!


	5. Chapter 5

House

Chapter 5

Summary: How does Jenny react to Abbie's burgeoning career as an arsonist? Also, where are they all going to sleep that night? Could there be a shopping trip in the future?

A/N: The rest of this story is not going to be as much action as the beginning, it'll be more like drama/how to carry on with life… I hope you still like it!

…

With a tired sigh, Abbie closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window. She sat in the passenger's seat of Captain Irving's SUV. The heater was set to max and the warm air was just starting to slow her shivering.

She slipped her feet out of her soggy sneakers and pulled them up onto the seat, wrapping the emergency blanket around her legs.

Her thoughts slipped in various directions. She felt a sweet relief that she and Crane had made it through another misadventure more or less intact. The bitter loss of watching her home go up in flames and crying on Crane's shoulder had left her feeling drained.

If she could go back in time, Abbie knew she'd do the same thing. Even if there'd been another way to kill that evil tree branch demon, there was no way she'd be able to set foot in that house again. Abbie Mills and haunted houses just don't mix.

'All my clothes are gone. I'll have to go shopping,' she thought to herself, trying to focus on the practical tasks at hand, 'Who knows, maybe I can finally get Crane to try on some new clothes…All my shoes are gone. My big, soft bed is gone…Oh, all my books. The little box at the bottom of the closet with the birthday cards from Corbin, the love letters from Luke – Well, maybe it is better those burned…but all the photos from my college days…'

Abbie sniffed. The sadness was pulling at her again.

'When did I become so materialistic? Think about it this way, you still have what's important. You've started over with nothing before and this time isn't anywhere near as bad. You have your life, you have Crane now, even Jenny too some days.'

She shifted in the seat and rested her chin on her knees, looking out the window.

Crane was over there, talking with Captain Irving by the fire truck, grey emergency blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders. He must be freezing, Valley Forge veteran or not, and was definitely walking a bit stiffly. He'd taken quite a tumble escaping from the garage door.

'Stop worrying about him, Abbie,' she told herself, 'He knows to come in here if he's too cold.'

…..

Abbie blinked open her eyes. She must have dozed off for a few minutes in the now toasty warm car. She looked out the window.

Crane was still standing out there by Captain Irving, but now Jenny was with them. When had she gotten here?

Abbie jammed her feet back into her sneakers and went to join them.

"Hey, Jenny," she greeted her sister.

"Hey, Abbie. The guys filled me in. You okay?" Jenny asked, concerned. It was a strange feeling because usually Abbie was the concerned one and Jenny was the one who had gotten into some sort of trouble or other.

"Yeah, I'm alright," Abbie said, adding, "My house, though, not so much."

"Mm-hmm," Jenny turned to face the ruins of the smoldering house, taking in the view.

"Arson. I'm impressed," she said, glancing back at her sister, eyebrow raised appreciatively.

"You would be," Abbie muttered, just barely cracking a smile.

"Impressed, and now officially homeless."

Abbie just nodded.

Finally Ichabod spoke up, "Let's get out of here, Lieutenant."

"Yeah," Abbie agreed, tiredly rubbing her eyes. She was more than ready to leave.

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

At the mention of food, Ichabod realized that he too was very hungry. They hadn't eaten all day and now his stomach began to growl in protest.

"I think I'd better drive," Jenny said, pulling Abbie's keys out of her pocket, almost expecting her sister to protest.

"Perhaps we can go to the drive-through?" Ichabod suggested helpfully, pleased to put his new-found knowledge to use. He had disliked the whole concept of fast food right from the beginning, but he now realized that, for situations like this, a quick, hot, ready-made meal would be most appropriate.

"Good idea," Abbie agreed.

"Mills, hold up!" Captain Irving called, "Do you all have somewhere to stay tonight?"

"Yeah, I figured we'd just go to Corbin's old cabin by the lake, sir," Abbie replied, stifling a yawn.

Irving shook his head, "You don't want to go all the way out there at this hour. Why don't you crash at my place tonight? It's just ten minutes from here."

Abbie was a little surprised at the offer, "Are you sure, all three of us?"

"Yeah, it's no problem," he assured them, adding, "You've been through enough tonight, it's the least I can do."

"Thank you," Abbie said gratefully. She didn't really want to drive all the way out through the creepy woods to the drafty old cabin.

…

Captain Irving opened the door to his apartment and walked inside, followed by Jenny, Abbie, and Ichabod.

"Nice place," Jenny said, looking around approvingly. She plopped down on the couch in the living room, sinking into the soft cushions, stretching her arms out.

"No, by all means, please make yourself at home," Captain Irving said sarcastically, but Jenny just leaned her head back and smiled.

Ichabod carried the empty Happy Meal bags and balled up wrappers into the kitchen and tossed them in the trash.

"I can't believe you ate all my French fries," he complained to Abbie.

"Sorry," she said, not sounding the least bit sorry.

Jenny bounced up off the couch and strode over to check out the big flat-screen TV and the pile of DVD's scattered around it.

She held up a DVD case.

"Emperor's New Groove?" she asked with a teasing smile, "Frank, I didn't take you for a Disney man."

"It's Macey's. She loves that stuff," Irving said.

"She has good taste," Jenny replied, setting it back down and moving on to look at the picture frames on the bookshelf.

At this point Captain Irving was starting to have second thoughts about this plan. The psych patient curiously snooping through his living room, the two Witnesses to the apocalypse bickering in his kitchen.

He steeled himself for the task at hand. Like it or not, this was his team and he had to take care of them.

"I'll find some clean clothes and extra blankets," Irving said, partially to himself.

"Thank you, sir," Abbie said.

"Hall bathroom is over there, the second shower is through the bedroom," he directed, looking at Mills and Crane pointedly, "Go ahead and clean up. You two look like extras in a bad horror movie."

He was right, they did look like a mess. Abbie's clothes were damp and muddy and she had scrapes on her hands and knees. Ichabod was similarly banged up and was once again smeared with that unnerving tree-blood.

He looked decidedly uncomfortable and worn out, Abbie noted, but at least he didn't look so…shell shocked this time.

"You heard the man," Abbie said, pushing Ichabod towards the hall bathroom, "go on and get cleaned up. You smell like smoke."

To Be Continued…..

Preview: Ichabbie vs. First Aid (as promised) and also some awkward social situations for the A-Team!


End file.
